


A Little Bit Every Day

by rebelcongeriem



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: And Marlene?, Dorcas is secretly an imp in disguise, F/F, Good thing Dorcas does, She's harboring a mega crush on Dorcas, Sirius Black is legit a drama queen but what else is new?, and doesn't know what to do about it, huhuhuhuhu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:00:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21825577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelcongeriem/pseuds/rebelcongeriem
Summary: Marlene and Dorcas find themselves awakened at three in the morning by a melodramatic Sirius Black—but at least Marlene gets her daily Dorcas fix, so not all is lost.
Relationships: Marlene McKinnon/Dorcas Meadowes
Comments: 9
Kudos: 64





	A Little Bit Every Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yrfrndfrnkly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yrfrndfrnkly/gifts).



> Written for Witchsweekly's Secret Santa gift exchange. 
> 
> I didn't originally have an outline or a plan or even a plot; I just decided to tackle one of the prompts included in the email and honestly, who wouldn't enjoy writing about Marlene and Dorcas living in a state of eye-roll at any and all Marauders shenanigans **?** It's a pretty lighthearted one-shot with very little angst. I hope you like it **!**
> 
> Just so you know, they're in their seventh year. (✿◠‿◠)

  
“Right. Listen up, gents,” Sirius Black greets his audience with a somber expression, grey eyes conveying the gravity of a situation that is apparently pressing enough to necessitate a clandestine meeting at three in the morning—one he has yet to expound on judging from the numerous blank looks sent his way. 

A pointed cough, courtesy of one Marlene McKinnon, immediately snatches the attention of several bleary-eyed Gryffindors for a brief moment before Sirius adds cheerily, “And ladies, of course. We have a serious problem on our hands.”

“We know,” Marlene mutters, tucking a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear as she levies an exasperated eye-roll at her bench-mate and best friend since first year, Dorcas Meadowes. “Our serious problem is currently wearing a _Hobsgoblin_ t-shirt and spouting off at the mouth about some perceived slight at this ungodly hour when he should be in bed, like every other sensible student.” She leans her head against Dorcas’ shoulder and fakes a yawn—except her exhaustion is actively trying to bully and dragoon her until she agrees to go to bed...and she’s quite tempted to abscond with Dorcas, whose shoulder is just the right amount of comfortable to lull a perfectly wakeful girl to sleep. “Suppose there’s no accounting for taste.”

A giggle-snort slips past Dorcas’ lips, and she gives a little shrug to show just how entertaining she finds Marlene’s reaction to the drama that tends to unfold around Sirius, forever nipping at his heels like an overeager puppy. “Oh, I don’t know. I hear he’s rather popular with the Hufflepuffs,” she discloses conspiratorially, fingers distractedly playing with a few of the wavy, sun-kissed strands fanning across her shoulder from where Marlene is resting her head. 

Which, come to think of it, is probably why Black chose Hufflepuff territory for this private gathering. Not only are the kitchens large enough to host a Gryffindor rally during the busiest season, namely the Start-of-Term feast, but their location isn’t as well known.

“Are you two done?” Black snaps, mouth set in a pout.

She exchanges a look with Marlene, their shared thoughts reflected in the amused curve to Marlene’s mouth and the mischievous glint in Dorcas’ dark eyes. “Carry on.” The blonde makes a theatrically inviting gesture with her hand, uncaring how condescending it may come across as. The way she sees it, Black deserves it for sneaking into her dormitory in the dead of night and pelting her with rolled up socks until she finally startled awake with a groan of discontent. To make matters worse, she even had to catch herself before she unwittingly took a tumble right over the edge of her four-poster bed, gaining his laughter in the process and thus earning her ire for the rest of the day.

“ _Anyway_.” Black pointedly ignores their loud whispering and resumes his dramatizing of a traumatic event that, in his opinion, merits retaliation. “We’ve got to do something about those cheating arsemongers—we can’t afford another loss, especially not to _Slytherins_. Honestly, what were their parents thinking allowing them out of their homes?” He wrinkles his nose, as though the very idea disgusts him. “Hell, I’d be amazed if they could find their way out of a broom cupboard.”

“Um,” Dorcas makes a point of raising her hand, as if she’s sitting in the middle of class and still trying to wrap her head around how she got there. “I’m not on the team.”

“So?”

“So why am I here?”

“Insurance,” Remus Lupin supplies helpfully, hand wrapped firmly around a mug of hot cocoa, as though afraid someone may steal it if he’s not careful. (No one is stupid enough to try; Lupin hoards chocolate like dragons hoard treasure.) “Where you go, McKinnon goes, so...there you go.” He waves his hand affably, the explanation causing Marlene to raise her head, pinning Lupin in place with a narrow-eyed look. She can’t help but resent the fact that he has a point. They may not (yet) be joined at the hip, but it’s a close thing. 

"You're not on the team either," she grumbles. 

He doesn't bother to reply, merely offering a placid smile. 

“Where’s Potter?” Frank Longbottom pipes up, unexplainably chipper despite the early hour.

“Preparing for his date with Evans.”

“At three in the morning?” Marlene asks dryly. 

Lupin stifles a chuckle, quick to resume his facade of gentility that has somehow miraculously managed to inveigle their way out of trouble more times than she can count. And she’s tried. “The early bird catches the worm.” The words fall easy, a subtle, playful jab at her nocturnal habits.

Before Marlene can counter, however, Dorcas intervenes with a wry smile. “What exactly are you planning?” She slants an inquisitive glance at Black, her thigh brushing against Marlene’s, a light, teasing touch that sends a hot flush crawling up the blonde’s neck, warming her cheeks.

“Complete and total annihilation, my favorite tag-along.” Black gleefully rubs his hands together, adhering to the typical, muggle, cartoonish villain stereotype. “First, we’ll break into their common room and transfigure every snake emblem into a flobberworm—before rearranging the furniture, of course, which will hopefully confuse their pea-sized brains—and then we’ll sneak into the boys’ dormitory and sprinkle powdered root of asphodel onto the bristles of their brooms to make their riders drowsy and disoriented when the time comes for a rematch.”

A quietness tails his outline of a prank guaranteed to backfire. Until Marlene breaks it.

“And kill them in the process. A sufficient use of your time, Black. I’m impressed,” she scoffs, straightening in her seat on the bench. A faint blush tints her skin, visible proof of her awareness of Dorcas, someone who makes her question everything she thought she knew about attraction and bonds.

“Thank you,” he answers smugly, and Lupin has to smother another laugh, taking a large gulp of hot cocoa to hide his amusement.

“You’re incorrigible.” Marlene sniffs. “And before you ask, no, that’s not a compliment.”

He crosses his arms, subsiding into a sulk when everyone laughs at his expense. “ _Fine_. Next time, I’ll leave you out of it.”

“Promises, promises.”

.

.

.

Later that evening, the two girls find themselves sharing Dorcas’ bed, alone in the dormitory for once, if one discounts the Siamese cat lounging in the middle of the room, watching them with blue, unblinking eyes.

Ignoring the piercing, judgmental stare of Mary Macdonald’s cat, Marlene lets her eyelids droop as Dorcas gently combs her fingers through her hair, a half-smile on her face as she listens to Dorcas humming a random tune under her breath. The blonde Chaser is currently laying with her head pillowed on Dorcas' lap, the dark-haired witch sitting cross-legged with her back pressed against the headboard and an aura of contentment surrounding them. 

“Lily must have the patience of a saint to put up with that unruly lot,” Marlene mumbles during a brief lull in humming, curling her arm tighter around a pillow that smells distinctly like Dorcas’ favorite shampoo: fresh orange blossoms and coconut. “How do you think she does it?”

“Hm.” Dorcas ponders the question seriously, head tilted in a sign of deep reflection. “With help, naturally,” she replies. “Of the potion kind. I imagine she would have quite a few hangover potions on standby for when she needs them after a night of picking up after her beau and his entourage of troublemakers.”

“But Lily doesn’t drink,” Marlene points out, furrowing her brow as she tries—and fails—to picture Lily completely sloshed on firewhiskey and daisyroot draught. It’s not a comforting thought.

“Are you sure?” Dorcas pauses in her gentle ministrations, the pads of her fingers barely grazing Marlene’s skin. “I myself enjoy a Beetle Berry Whiskey every now and then.”

An amused noise sounds from the back of Marlene’s throat, and she reaches up to tug on the end of Dorcas’ voluminous, dark brown braid, absentmindedly marveling at the texture and how the strands feel against her calluses. While thick and lush, they're surprisingly soft to the touch, so soft that she itches to unwind her plaited hair and let it flow through her fingers. 

Silence falls between them then, long and intimate and almost as tangible as the warm, soft lap beneath her head. It beats a regular, old pillow any day of the week, and she opens her mouth to tell her so—but she can’t quite find the right words to articulate her gratitude for the opportunity to lay her head on Dorcas’ lap, therefore deciding to say nothing in the end.

 _What is wrong with you_? The voice, sounding remarkably like her conscience, snarks. _Don’t make things weird_. 

When the silence starts to tread on uncomfortable grounds, however, Marlene clears her throat, forcing the words through lips gone dry. “Well, if anyone’s capable of driving Lily to drink, my galleon’s on Potter.”

Dorcas’ giggle comes light and infectious, washing over her like sunlight. But the impish expression lurking in her pretty features belies the innocent sound: mischief brews in those honey-brown eyes framed by thick eyelashes, giving her the air of someone with many secrets. “Are we betting now?”

“It can’t really be called a bet if the stakes aren’t worth the risk,” she answers carefully.

Dorcas’ eyebrow wings up in surprise. “That doesn’t sound like the Marlene I know and love.”

 _Love_. Marlene sits up sharply, wide-eyed, forgetting for the moment that friends often express their love for one another through casual touches and verbal acknowledgments. This awful, monstrous and obstruent crush has officially turned her into _that_ girl—the anxious, insecure girl who doesn’t know where to go from here or what to even say. Thankfully, in that particular moment, Mary’s cat chooses to intrude by suddenly launching itself onto her lap, claws gently kneading her leg through her pajama bottoms and as a result saving her from further humiliation.

“Oh, hello there, Mercury,” she cooes, moving her hand down the cat’s back, scratching and rubbing, secretly showing her gratitude through petting. “You’re such a pretty boy. If Mary didn’t love you so much, I’d be tempted to steal you away.” Gently lifting Mercury into her arms, she flashes a quick smile at Dorcas, having regained her confidence at the brief distraction—enough to ask, “Want to sneak into the boys’ dormitory later and _aguamenti_ the hell out of Black just for the fun of it?” The sudden change in topic isn’t surprising. 

(Neither is Dorcas' answer, even if the way she says it makes her heart skip a beat.)

“If it’ll make you happy,” she says in a voice like melting honey, before leaning forward to scratch the purring feline under its chin, her body relaxed and her smile lazy as she brushes up against her.

A burning blush spreads over Marlene’s cheeks and brow, and she buries her face in Mercury’s soft, white fur to hide how flustered she suddenly feels, replying in a voice muffled by the fur, “Yes...I—uh. _Please_. Pranking Black would be the highlight of my day.” Second only to spending what free periods she can with Dorcas, but she doesn’t need to know that.

“Wait. I thought _I_ was.”

Huh. Maybe she already does.


End file.
